“Yes, yes, yes,” Bola said, dismissively waving her hand at Sunny. “Shut up now. I’ve got it.”

Sunny was glad to shut up. Once she started talking, it was as if she had diarrhea of the mouth. Words gushing forth like . . . water, she thought, getting up. Orlu was already standing to Bola’s left, his hands deep in his pockets, something he only did when he felt perfectly safe, which wasn’t often at all. Bola’s home must have really been protected.

“This can’t be anything but interesting,” Bola said as she knelt on the floor. “Let’s see what the cowry catcher will show us today. Mouth open or mouth closed, only the cowry catcher knows.” She blew on her handful of cowries. “I know some, but soon I’ll know more.”

“I hope it’s good news,” Orlu muttered.

“Whatever it is, at least I’ll know what’s going on,” Sunny replied.

Bola brought the handful of shells to her lips and whispered something. Then she pointed and looked upward and said, “Inshallah. Chukwu is not concerned and only Allah can make it so.” Then she threw the cowries. As they fell and tumbled to the hardwood floor, Sunny’s right ear began to ring. She pressed her hand to it, and Bola looked at her and nodded. “That’s the sound you hear when someone is talking about you. They are discussing your past, present, or future. I would tell you to whistle into your fist and say ‘Let it be good,’ but you cannot control those who inhabit the wilderness. Not when you are more than halfway there yourself.”

Sunny pressed her ear harder as she watched the cowries settle. They took longer than was normal. Some of them tumbled in a circle over and over. Others hopped and bounced like popcorn kernels on a skillet. Some came to rest and then flipped back over. And several of them clicked together three times before going into a feverish dance on their sides. But finally, after nearly a minute, they all came to rest.

The room was silent as the three of them looked hard at the shells—Bola with the gaze of an excited, intrigued expert, and Sunny and Orlu with confusion. Ten minutes passed and Bola still hadn’t moved. It almost looked as if she were in suspended animation.

“Is she breathing?” Sunny whispered.

But Orlu was looking around, his hands out of his pockets. “Did you hear something?”

Sunny frowned, suddenly on edge. “No.”

“Shhh,” Orlu said. “Someone’s here.”

Sunny scanned the entire room. No one. The sun shone through the large wall of windows and the room was pleasantly warm. But . . . she smelled something. She flared her nostrils. “What is that?” she whispered. It wasn’t sour, pungent, sweet, oily, or foul. It wasn’t stinky, delicious, stinging, perfumy, or dirty. She couldn’t describe it. But it was strong and it was permeating the room. She and Orlu moved closer to one another.

Suddenly, Bola turned to Sunny. Her eyes were twitchy, her face blank of emotion. She stiffly stood up and came closer. Sunny grabbed Orlu’s arm, but she stood her ground, facing Bola . . . or whoever it was possessing Bola’s body.